Dulce Et Decorum Est
by H. L. Hunter
Summary: Poetry can be a very powerful thing. When a poem encouraging young children to join the Empire's army is played over the radio, one member of the Rebels just couldn't let it go without putting up some sort of fight. And by seeing how it affected his father, well, now he couldn't back down. I DON'T OWN THE POEMS Rated T for the descriptions. (Part two in the What if I shine' series)


Star Wars Rebels: Dulce Et Decorum Est

The crew of the Ghost, Kanan, Hera, Chopper, Sabine, Zeb and Ezra all sat around the table in the common room of the ship. Hera and Sabine sat on the seats, Zeb was leaning on a crate, Ezra stood next to Chopper and Kanan was leaning against the door frame. Their ship was currently in a large field on Lothal, and the day was ending. The six of them were listening to the Imperial News. "And now for our newest addition to the Imperial News, Poetry Time, where you can voice your opinions or say something for all to hear through poetry. Today's entry is called 'Who's for the Game?'" The man on the radio said, before playing a recording of the poem out. 

_Who's for the game, the biggest that's played,_  
 _The red crashing game of a fight?_  
 _Who'll grip and tackle the job unafraid?_  
 _And who thinks he'd rather sit tight?_

 _Who'll toe the line for the signal to 'Go!'?_  
 _Who'll give his Empire a hand?_  
 _Who wants a turn to himself in the show?_  
 _And who wants a seat in the stand?_

 _Who knows it won't be a picnic – not much-_  
 _Yet eagerly shoulders a gun?_  
 _Who would much rather come back with a crutch_  
 _Than lie low and be out of the fun?_

 _Come along, lads –_  
 _But you'll come on all right –_  
 _For there's only one course to pursue,_  
 _Your Empire is up to her neck in a fight,_  
 _And she's looking and calling for you._

"Seriously?" Sabine asked with an exasperated sigh. "Now they're sending out recruitment poetry for the Imperial Army!" Hera turned off the radio station. "This is ridiculous!" Zeb moaned. From the corner of his eye, Ezra noticed that Kanan looked...for lack of a better word, sad. "You OK, Kan-I mean, Dad?" He asked whilst Sabine and Zeb ranted on behind them. He still wasn't used to calling Kanan and Hera Dad and Mum yet. Kanan snapped out of his thoughts. "Huh? Oh, yeah Ezra, I'm fine." He said.  
"Are you sure?" Ezra asked, not believing his master, and his new father, for a second. Something was up, he could feel it in the Force. "Yes, Ezra. I'm fine." Kanan told him, his tone harsher than he would have liked. Ezra backed off. "OK. If you say so." He replied, his words slow and calm as to not provoke Kanan again. The older Jedi sighed. "I'm going to bed." He said before walking off to his room. Ezra sighed. Something was definitely wrong.

That night, the Ghost was silent (Of course, except from Zeb's snoring). But Ezra had woken up. In the middle of the night, when there was nothing out of the ordinary going on, Ezra had just... woken up. As confused as I'm sure you are now, Ezra looked around the dark room for answers, but he found none. Using what Kanan had taught him, Ezra sat himself into a meditative position and focused. He focused on the Force and used it to sense each member of his family. Hera was safely asleep in her room, so was Sabine and Zeb- well, Ezra didn't need the Force to know that he was alright. When Ezra turned his focus to Kanan, he wasn't met with safety and comfort, but much rather pain and fear. Ezra's eyes snapped open and he climbed down from his bunk as quickly but as quietly as he could. He opened the door and ran down the hall until he stood in front of Kanan's room. The door slid open and Ezra rushed to his father's side. "Dad?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Kanan was still in his sleep, except from the odd shuffle, but his face held one of pain, as if he was feeling it himself. "Dad, wake up." Ezra attempted to shake Kanan awake, but it didn't work. Turning back to the Force, Ezra placed a hand on Kanan's shoulder in an attempt as to try and find out what was wrong. But what he saw... Was something he wouldn't forget anytime soon...

 _They trudged through the battlefield. Smoke and flames surrounded them as they stumbled through the mud beneath their feet. In front of him was a wagon and troopers, clone troopers, but you couldn't tell from the gunk covering their armour. Many had lost their boots. Behind him, a jedi master walked with determination in her eyes. "Just keep walking, Caleb." She said to him, and he turned around to face the front once more. Behind them, blasts were fired but did not reach the line of men who were walking along._

 _"Gas! Gas! Quick boys!" A voice called out from behind them all. He quickly grabbed his gas mask from around his neck and secured it on his face as a misty cloud surrounded them. All around him, the troopers and the Jedi Master had their masks on too. But not everyone. One trooper was running about, his hands covering his face as he yelled out. "Help! Help!" He shouted, collapsing to his knees in unyielding pain. Through the dark green panes of the mask he saw the trooper drowning, drowning in his own blood and froth. As he writhed on the floor in agony, all that could be done was for his fellow soldiers to lift up the body and place it on the wagon they had. Then, they all continued on their way. But all he could do was stare at the trooper who was guttering and choking. A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to find the Jedi Master looking at him. "Come on." She said with a sigh, before walking ahead. He walked up to the wagon and walked alongside the trooper, watching the blood came flying from his mouth at every jolt. As they walked, the trooper croaked out a sentence. "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." ..._

"Dad! Wake up!" Ezra repeated after he pulled himself out of the memory. He gently shook Kanan once more to get him to wake up, and he did. Blinking rapidly, Kanan sat up quickly and gasped, surprised to have been awoken from his sleep. "Dad?" Ezra asked, making sure that he was awake. Kanan turned his head and looked at Ezra. "Ezra?" He asked, still blinking and unfocused. Ezra wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders. "It's OK. It was just a dream." He soothed, rubbing Kanan's back like his father would do to him after a bad dream. Stunned for a moment, Kanan soon returned the hug. "Son." He sighed and smiled, before Ezra laid him back down. "Go back to sleep, Dad." Ezra said to him with a small smile, holding Kanan's hand. Eventually, Kanan went back to sleep.

Ezra thought about the dream over and over in his mind. It was a horrible one, one he wished he could forget. But then suddenly, the events of earlier that evening played in his mind. 

_"Who's for the game, the biggest that's played"_

His face stern and determined, Ezra looked around the room frantically for something he could write on. His eyes fell upon a data pad that was on a nearby table. Ezra picked it up and turned it on, turning to a black document and with only a moments hesitation, began to write.

The next morning, Kanan awoke to find Ezra sitting there asleep, his head propped up on his arm. Chuckling, Kanan sat up and got off the bunk. He remembered what had happened last night, about how he had the dream and Ezra woke him up, he remembered it all. Kanan picked Ezra up, lying the young boy down and tucking him in under the blanket, before heading towards the door and down to the kitchen. Ezra needed his rest, so he left him alone.

In the Kitchen, Hera, Sabine, Zeb and Chopper sat around the table. "Hey Kanan. Where's Ezra?" Hera asked when Kanan had walked in. "He's still sleeping." Was the reply she received as Kanan grabbed his breakfast, which Hera had so kindly made, and sitting down. "Well, he needs to wake up soon. He's helping me with the supply run today." Sabine said, her mouth full of food. Suddenly, Chopper interrupted them by playing the Imperial News out loud. "And now it's Poetry Time." The man on the radio said, earning a groan from Zeb and Sabine. "Please turn it off, Chop." Sabine asked, but Chopper just shook his metallic head. "Today's entry is from an Unknown writer in response to yesterday's poem, 'Who's for the game?'" The man on the radio said, before playing the recording he had been sent. 

_Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,_

That voice. The entire team shot up with a start when they heard the speaker. Hera spoke up. "Is that...?"  
"Ezra." Kanan finished.

 _Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,_  
 _Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs_  
 _And towards our distant rest began to trudge._  
 _Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots_  
 _But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;_  
 _Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots_  
 _Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind._

They listened. They listened to the words Ezra spoke through the recording. They were all silent as they listened, each thinking differently about the poem. But only one knew what Ezra truly spoke about.

 _Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,_  
 _Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;_  
 _But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,_  
 _And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. . ._  
 _Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,_  
 _As under a green sea, I saw him drowning._

Kanan winced at the memories, the haunting dreams of how that solider plunged at him. Guttering, choking, drowning...

 _In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,_  
 _He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning._

 _If in some smothering dreams you too could pace_  
 _Behind the wagon that we flung him in,_  
 _And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,_  
 _His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;_  
 _If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood_  
 _Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,_  
 _Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud_  
 _Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,_  
 _My friend, you would not tell with such high zest_  
 _To children ardent for some desperate glory,_  
 _The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est_

_"Pro patria mori."_ A voice finished. A voice in the real world. Everyone turned their heads to find Ezra leaning against the door frame. "I guess you heard it, then." He said, smiling a little before walking over and sitting down next to Kanan. "How did you write that?" Zeb asked, "And what's it about?" Ezra sighed. Truthfully, he didn't know hat it was about. He went to talk when a voice stopped him. "It was about the Battle for Fleuron. It was a battle fought during the Clone Wars." Kanan explained. All eyes turned to him. "It was fought in trenches and their main weapon of choice was a type of gas that did horrible things to your insides." Shuddering, Sabine spoke up. "It said you wrote it in reply to 'Who's for the Game?'. Why?"  
"Because I wasn't going to sit there and let people be fed lies!" Ezra said, a strong look on his face. "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori means 'It is sweet and honourable to die for you planet' and this is wrong! The innocent young children are being told that they should go and die for something that is horrid and cruel because that's what the Empire is! I wasn't going to stand for that!" Kanan wrapped his arms around Ezra's shoulders in a hug, trying to calm the young boy down. Ezra accepted the hug. Soon after Hera joined in with the hug, then Sabine, and eventually Zeb. Chopper just nudged Ezra's leg.

"That was a really great thing you did, Ezra." Kanan said. The others had left the room to go and begin their day, but Kanan chose to stay with Ezra. "Thank you." He said.  
"No problem." Ezra replied, his mouth full of food. Kanan just smiled and hugged Ezra again. 'I really mean it, Son. Thank you.' Kanan spoke in his mind.

'You're welcome, Dad.'


End file.
